


Unwound and Rediscovered

by santanico



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dragon Age Kink Meme, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Humor, M/M, Mark of the Assassin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 19:37:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3908089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/santanico/pseuds/santanico
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“So,” a woman with an obnoxious accent and hair tied up in numerous, brightly colored ribbons, starts to say. “The famous Champion of Kirkwall has been wed to an elf, yes? How…interesting.”</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Or, when Fenris and Hawke had to pretend to be married at Chateau Haine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unwound and Rediscovered

**Author's Note:**

> For this [prompt because I absolutely cannot resist a good fake!married.](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/13010.html?thread=54656722#t54656722)
> 
> Further, I also kind of was hand-wavey about the actual canon. I haven't played the DLC but I have watched the cut scenes etc. so I felt comfortable enough going with it.

Fenris twitches as he watches Tallis and Varric approach the man at the door. 

“Party of four, under Hawke,” Varric says with a chuckle. The valet looks between them.

“Names, please,” he says, his tone contradicting the politeness of his phrasing.

“Varric. Oh, both names? Tethras. Varric Tethras.” The man gives him a frown and Varric mutters something about Orlesians not understanding simple communication under his breath.

Tallis makes up something, or maybe that’s her real name, Fenris doesn’t care to find out, and then Hawke steps forward, giving his full name and saying, “Yes, that’s me, infamous, famous, what have you.”

Fenris shakes his head and goes to follow Hawke inside but the doorman holds out a hand.

“And you are…?”

Fenris blinks. “My name is Fenris.”

Hawke's gone on ahead, seemingly unaware of the pause, but the other two look expectantly at Fenris, Tallis giving him a particularly cold glare.

“Fenris…?” the valet prompts.

“Hawke.”

Varric snorts out a laugh and Tallis giggles as the valet's eyes widen and then his brows furrow together with a frown.

“…Alright then, Fenris Hawke. Not a sibling, clearly. Congrat...ulations.”

Fenris blinks a few times and then pushes past the other three after Hawke, who has already headed into the courtyard and is looking busily between nobles. Tallis grabs Hawke by the arm, still laughing, and starts to explain.

“Your friend had a moment of confusion and failed to make up a last name that wasn’t yours.”

“I…Excuse me?” Hawke looks between Tallis and Fenris and then gives Varric a glare.

“What? This isn’t my fault. You’re the one who brought along your ex and expected it to go smoothly.”

“I’m not his – ”

“He’s not my – ”

Varric interrupts them. “It doesn’t matter. Watch out for those Orlesians. If the nobles notice that the elf’s lied, they’ll start to question things. So. Make merry.”

Fenris presses his lips together, holding back a scalding remark. 

“You think we should – pretend to be married.” Hawke pauses. “You think they’ll buy that.”

Varric groans. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Hawke shoots Fenris a quick glance. “I’m sure it won’t take much,” he says, but there’s hesitation in his voice and Fenris is unconvinced. “Probably no one will even figure it out. I mean, gossip? About me? That’s out of the question.”

Fenris notices Tallis rolling his eyes, but doesn’t say anything of it.

-

Of course, Hawke’s prediction proves false.

“So,” a woman with an obnoxious accent and hair tied up in numerous, brightly colored ribbons, starts to say. “The famous Champion of Kirkwall has been wed to an elf, yes? How…interesting.”

Fenris considers just turning and finding a small corner to hide in until this is all over, maybe a large and empty table to crawl underneath, but Tallis is still standing there, with a glass of wine between her fingers, and she kicks him hard in the shin. He cringes and steps to the side slightly, but admires the way that she shows no signs of having touched him. She’s smiling at the noblewoman with hooded eyelids.

“Yes, an elf,” Hawke starts to say, his voice smooth – if Fenris didn’t know Hawke so well, he might even notice the irritation underlying his words. “Almost like there are millions of them, everywhere. Almost like marriage is an unalienable right.”

The woman quirks an eyebrow and puckers her lips before she sips from her own glass of pale white liquid. “Of course,” she says, and her annoyance shines right through in that thick accent. 

“Actually, my Lady,” Tallis interrupts, moving between Hawke and Fenris. “Do you might if I talk to you in private?” She smiles at the woman, who gives a slow nod, before tossing a glare over her shoulder at Hawke who shrugs.

“You don’t have to defend me,” Fenris snaps when they’re free of the nobles. Hawke looks at him with a frown and crosses his arms. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“How do you stand these stuffy clothes? I can barely breathe and if we were to be attacked, there would be no armor to protect us. Absolutely useless. And the shoes, by the Maker, how do you humans stand wearing these things?”

Hawke chuckles. “Well, good to know you haven’t stopped complaining.”

Fenris snorts. “When do I ever stop complaining?” he mutters.

“Why did you say ‘Hawke’?”

“It was the first name that came to mind.”

“Really?” Hawke doesn’t look convinced, but he also doesn’t say anything else.

Fenris licks his lips with a sigh.

The song and dance continues like that, with the rumors spreading to everyone across the court. It’s horrendous in some ways, easier in others. Some nobles seem to have no issue with the marriage, even when it’s between an elf and a human. Others ask overly invasive questions that have both Hawke and Fenris taking deep breaths and swallowing curses.

Hawke is more patient, so most of the time, Fenris lets him speak.

“So how did the two of you meet?” a man wearing a loud, gold and green tinted mask asks. Fenris is comforted, knowing the man looks out of place, even for something as uptight as Chateau Haine. He wears gloves that match the metal mask, and his white pants tucked in black boots stand out in the most horrendous way. At least he’s not downright rude.

Fenris really hopes Hawke doesn’t give an honest answer to that question.

As usual, Hawke is a good storyteller, often almost as convincing as Varric. More charming, certainly. Fenris shakes his head against the thought.

“Well, Fenris had just moved into Hightown. You don’t meet many noble elves, am I right?” The man laughs in a loud, fake way, and Fenris tries not to groan. Hawke glances back at him with a lopsided grin, and Fenris’ stomach drops. “He was beautiful. From the moment I saw him, the attraction was there.” Fenris swallows back against his heart, which seems to have miraculously jumped into his throat. “Invited me into his mansion, had a few drinks. What can I say? We’re both just so attracted to _money_!” Hawke laughs, and Fenris can tell _that_ is fake, at the very least.

The rest? He files that away for further thought, and chuckles along with Hawke and the nobleman.

“So when did you tie the knot, eh? Weddings can be such beautiful and harmonious occasions. It must have been so exciting.”

Hawke nods quickly, grinning at the noble. “We had some rocky moments, I’ll admit,” he says, voice still buttery smooth. “But marriage just made sense. He had already moved in, sold his own mansion. It was just good timing. Of course, this was _before_ the Qunari, before the whole _Champion_ thing.” Hawke chuckles, tilting his head to lean closer to the noble like he’s about to tell a secret. “I think he finds the Champion bit to be even more attractive, if I’m being honest.”

The noble gives a hearty laugh, throwing his head back. “And look at the man’s face! He is blushing something fierce! Oh, Ser Hawke, you are an absolute delight. I must be going, but have a fabulous time. You too, Ser Fenris.”

Fenris dips his head at the noble before looking at Hawke.

“What?” Hawke says.

Fenris glowers.

-

“Hawke sure is good at this, huh?”

Fenris drinks deeply from his glass of wine. It’s sweeter than he’s used to, but if it gives him a bit of fog to get through the rest of this day, he doesn’t care. He looks down at Tallis, who is smiling at him.

“He is.”

“Oh, come on. You don’t have to pretend to me. Varric gave me the details.”

Fenris snorts. “And what details does Varric know?” Suddenly, he wants the answer to that question. Because for Varric to know, means Hawke would have had to tell. Fenris kept himself very secretive, and he’s _pretty_ sure he hadn’t spilled any of his depressing thoughts to Varric drunkenly over cards. He’s…mostly certain. Kind of.

“Oh, just that the two of you hooked up…” Tallis laughs as Fenris blanches, “and you couldn’t handle it, or whatever. True love, or the sex, or something. Oh, don’t give me that look. It doesn’t take a spy to see that you’ve been pining for Hawke since we left. And we all overheard the lover's quarrel…”

“Tallis.” He cuts her off sharply and she raises an eyebrow at him. 

“I…apologize.” She sighs, and he takes her for sincere. 

“…But you’re not going to shut up, are you?” he says, before she can get the words out. She laughs. 

“Of course not,” she says, and he blinks and frowns at her – a confusing woman, hardly an elf he’s ever met. “Look, whatever happened between the two of you, I’ve – noticed the way Hawke looks at you. It’s hard not to.” She glances at him and he steels his expression. No use giving her any fuel for her ridiculous fire. “And I’ve seen the way you look at him, when his back is turned, when he’s flirting with someone. It’s…”

“Stop.”

“I’m sorry,” she says. “Alright, well, have fun pretending to be married.”

Fenris groans and lowers his head.

-

The party lasts for hours. This is ridiculous. Fenris is tired.

And Hawke has resolved to touching him at any given moment. Perhaps it’s the wine, but Fenris finds himself leaning into it, playing the game, even as his voice slurs.

“Children?” Hawke laughs. Somehow his voice is still steady despite the hours of talking, and he takes the pause in conversation with the two women to wrap his arm around Fenris’ waist. The noblewoman with chestnut brown hair giggles loudly at the sign of affection and Hawke pauses briefly, humming as if he’s considering the question. “I don’t know if either of us is ready for that, yet. I mean, we’ve only been married a few short months.” How Hawke manages to string together such a tight narrative, Fenris isn’t sure, but he nods along, sage and quiet as he’s expected to be. Hawke’s eyes betray his annoyance as he continues. “Perhaps we would adopt some poor elven child from the alienage. Or a former slave. Or something. Who knows! We’re philanthropists.”

Fenris can’t help himself laughing because Hawke just sounds so damn ridiculous, and he’s throwing his other arm around in a way that mesmerized the women, who laugh when nothing funny has been said. Hawke laughs with them, and it all keeps Fenris from seeming out of place.

“Hawke, if I could borrow you.”

Hawke shifts away from Fenris slightly, and the loss of his warmth makes the night air more biting. Damn it all. Fenris tries not to glare at Varric as Hawke bids the women a good night and apologizes for inconveniencing them. Hawke shoots Fenris one last look, his eyebrows knitted together and mouth slightly open, before he hurries after Varric.

Fenris – doesn’t know what that looks means. Or why his stomach drops at it.

“Will you sit down, good ser?” one of the women says. Fenris considers, but the request seems genuine so he nods and pulls out a chair. A server approaches them before either of the women can speak again, and offers Fenris a plate with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes, thank you,” he says. Even now, he feels out of place. Varric must as well, but at least there are dwarves at the party who aren’t servants. Fenris grits his teeth, remembering the few times he had been referred to as Hawke’s manservant by those who hadn’t heard the rumors yet. Of course, Hawke’s daggered glares and possessive growls at the nobles, who had quickly been scared off and humiliated, had been a sort of comfort.

“The food is delicious,” the woman with the dark brown hair says, as she drinks a heavy red wine from a glass with an overly long stem. He wonders if those glasses can even be filled all the way, and when his own meal arrives, his theory that they can’t is proven, as his glass is only filled about a third of the way.

Fenris nods and says nothing. Keeping up the stoic and quiet act seems like the best choice, while he waits for Hawke.

The other woman is redheaded, though Fenris can barely tell as the sun sets, and the two women turn away from him and start chatting to each other in a tongue Fenris doesn’t recognize. He doesn’t mind, and starts to focus on eating.

Maybe being married isn’t so bad. Fenris bites his own tongue, surprised at his thoughts. But they unravel before he has a chance to bury them down. Maybe…maybe being _with_ Hawke could be okay. But maybe Hawke was just playing up the marriage aspect to humiliate Fenris. He was the one to cause this, and it was possible Hawke was angry at him. Having to play husband to an elf with strange blue tattoos? And yes, nobles thought it appropriate to ask about those, as well. Nobles seemed to think everything was appropriate, as if nothing was beyond their reach. It made Fenris enjoy lying all the more.

If Hawke was angry – if Hawke meant to mock him…

No. That’s wasn’t like Hawke.

Still. Tallis might be wrong. Projecting feelings onto Hawke that aren’t there, because of stories Varric had told her. He sighs. Exaggerated ones, undoubtedly. Whenever Fenris was at the Hanged Man and Varric was telling of Hawke’s exploits to excited onlookers, he _always_ exaggerated the amount of bandits, slavers, or Tal-Vashoth they had brutally killed. Four turned to forty, and so on. 

Even then – what if Tallis was _right_? That was worth considering.

And this…is strange. Surrounded by nobles who think he’s no better than whatever they tugged off the bottom of their shoe in the morning. The elves, servants especially, who looked at him with frustration or jealousy or something, wanting to be married to a noble man themselves.

Fenris’ confusion only grows. He isn’t married to a noble. Hawke barely even _counts_ as a noble, but Fenris wants…

He wants something.

“I need to talk to you.”

Fenris shudders and jumps in his seat. When he glares at Hawke, Hawke is blinking and muttering apologies.

“Come on.”

Fenris follows, because that’s the role he’s accepted.

He tries to ignore Hawke’s fingers around his. He can’t remember ever actually holding Hawke’s hand, and even though he’s being dragged away towards one of the main buildings attached to the courtyard, there’s intimacy behind it.

The music swells around them, violins and cellos and – whatever else. A piano.

Then there’s Hawke’s hand around his waist, and their bodies are pressed flush together, and Hawke mutters, “Just follow my lead,” into his ear and Fenris nods. Maybe something bad is about to happen. Fenris tries to remember anything he knows about dance, but it’s a simple enough waltz, and all he really has to do is avoid stepping on Hawke’s feet.

That Hawke is so good at what he does – is almost frustrating, but Fenris remains grateful, his chin tucked into Hawke’s shoulder.

“Why are we dancing?”

“Tradition. Custom, what have you,” Hawke says, his hand moving down Fenris’ back to rest in the small of it. Their hips are close. Fenris focuses on the ways his feet move, tries to let it happen naturally. Hawke’s breath is warm and close to his ear. “Turns out Orlesians love to dance.”

“You don’t say?” Fenris mutters. Hawke chuckles, deep in his throat, and Fenris misses one of the steps. Hawke catches him and they move more easily again.

“You alright?”

“That question about children…It must have been hard for you to say those things.”

Hawke makes a small sound at the back of his throat. “Even I can only handle so much of this. I was raised in a house of apostates, unlike my mother.” He sighs. “She could have given me advice.”

“I’m sorry, Hawke,” Fenris mutters. The right words seem lost. The music slows and so does the dancing.

“This is going to look and feel ridiculous, but I’m going to dip you.”

Fenris doesn’t have time to object or agree before he’s being sufficiently – dipped.

And looking at Hawke.

And Maker, this is not what was supposed to happen.

-

“What were you talking about with Varric, earlier?”

They’re eating – again. And drinking. It’s cold. He wants this all to be over, but Hawke and Tallis are having trouble and Varric is still watching them and Fenris just wants to go to sleep, but that seems out of the question.

“He was telling me about the dance. Said I’d be beheaded if we didn’t do it.”

Fenris stares. “You realize now he was lying to you, yes?”

Hawke’s face flushes. “I…I took that into consideration, yes,” he says, clearing his throat. “I’m sorry. For everything that’s happened tonight.”

Fenris frowns. “Why?”

“You must be exhausted. I know playing nice isn’t your strong suit. If I could have predicted this, I would have asked Merrill along.” He sighs, almost wistful. “That would have been hilarious, playing Merrill’s husband…”

“Hawke!”

“Sorry?”

“This was my mistake.”

“You didn’t – ”

“Can we go somewhere – private? Just for a minute. I need to…I need to talk to you without…so many eyes.” He’s specifically thinking about Varric and Tallis, who have become close friends over the night and seem to be muttering to each other from across the lawn.

Hawke nods, eyes focused on Fenris. They walk, just slightly distanced from each other, across the yard. No one stops them, though Hawke gives some friendly waves and greeting to nobles he’s talked to throughout the night.

Hawke must have somehow learned everything there is to know about this place because he takes them to something that looks like it should be a large storage shed. But it’s empty, and the walls and floor are made of stone, and it’s somehow warmer inside than it is outside.

“Give me a second,” Hawke says, approaching one of the torches. Fenris squints in the dark and starts to wonder what he’s going to say. “Carver used to always get so annoyed when I would light things with magic,” Hawke muses as he sets the torch ablaze. “It agitates him that I can do even the simplest things. He never had the same problem with Bethany.”

Fenris waits, and Hawke lights the torch on the other side of the room. Fenris notices the space is smaller than he initially thought, and he wonders vaguely what anyone who saw them enter thinks they’re here for.

“Fenris?”

“Right, I…” He trails off, trying to gather all his thoughts, his frustrations. “Hawke, I…”

Hawke doesn’t say anything, and in the flicker of torchlight, Fenris wants to turn and run.

He does.

Hawke has his wrist when Fenris is turned, back to Hawke, but before he can go anywhere else. There's familiarity in the touch but the reaction isn’t quite the same. Fenris just stops, drops his shoulders. Hawke’s grip loosens and then he lets go of Fenris’ wrist.

“I’m sorry,” he says, under his breath. Fenris can barely hear him.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Hawke.”

“I know. I know. I didn’t…that’s the only reason. It would have been easier – if – if someone else…I just…” Hawke’s stammering is a small comfort. “I wanted you to be here, with me. I thought – maybe I could convince you.”

Fenris smiles, keeping his gaze on the floor, on these stupid shoes. “Convince me of what?” he manages.

“It was stupid. _Is_ stupid. Should’ve just given you space, I know it’s been years, I know it’s been…But I – I thought, and I wanted, and I…” Hawke goes quiet for a minute. “If you came with me, I could trust you, and I wanted you to trust me. Truly. Again. Like you did…then.”

“You think I don’t trust you?” Fenris says. The question feels wrong even in his head, and the bafflement in his voice just seems to make Hawke laugh.

“You walked out with the most sullen expression and you…I just didn’t know. You said you’d remembered things, and I didn’t realize…”

“You felt guilty,” Fenris murmurs. “For making me remember.”

“That’s part of it,” Hawke says. His voice is so quiet it almost fades against the torches. “You deserve better, Fenris. But I couldn’t – today, I thought it could be…not like this, but it could be real. I wanted to kiss you in front of people. And tell them about how much you mattered. I wanted them to be jealous and I wanted to prove them wrong. And it pisses me off so fucking much that they…” He trails off, short of breath. “I’m sorry.”

Fenris turns to face Hawke. There’s something sheepish in his expression, mouth turned up into a half-smile, eyes wide-open.

Fenris strides forward and grabs Hawke’s face, kissing him before he has the chance to decide to leave again.

Hawke moans immediately, wrapping his arms around Fenris’ shoulders. It’s messy, a little uncomfortable as they each try to figure out each other’s mouths again. It’s different, too, because that night had been rough and full of frustrations and fears, and this is more than that. It’s pent up but it’s not angry anymore, just relieved, and Fenris finds himself pinned up against one of the those cold walls, Hawke licking and nipping down his throat, tugging away the collar of his shirt.

It registers in Fenris’ mind that this is everything he was terrified of happening, while simultaneously being exactly what he needs. He moans as Hawke’s palm presses against the crotch of his pants.

Too tight. Too _warm_.

Fenris remembers that night because Hawke had taken control, lead Fenris to the bedroom, kissed him ‘til he was breathless, fucked him the same way, and that had been good. It was what Fenris needed at the time.

Now is different, and Hawke is on his knees and mouthing at Fenris’ cock through the fabric of his pants. Hawke tugs loose the laces of Fenris’ breeches and releases his cock, wrapping his lips around the head of it.

Fenris groans, thrusting his hips and bracing himself against the wall.

Hawke shifts and licks a stripe up Fenris’ cock, chuckling so his warm breath ghosts along sensitive skin. “Can’t tell you how much I’ve thought about this,” he mutters. “Didn’t think I’d get this lucky tonight.”

“Hawke,” Fenris whispers, “Do you really think…”

His mind goes white as Hawke takes the tip back in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it. Fenris rocks his hips and his cock slides through Hawke’s hot mouth, grazing the back of his throat. Hawke must like that, or something of the same effect, because he moans and grips Fenris’ hips harder, suctioning his cheeks.

Fenris has no idea how Hawke does it – he’s careful and seems to know exactly when Fenris is getting to the edge because that’s always when he pulls back to hold Fenris’ cock in one hand and give it obscene, slow licks. Fenris is shuddering, making guttural noises he’d be ashamed of if his mind was straightened out enough to work out the meaning of shame. 

“Do you want me to touch myself?” Hawke says, voice quiet, before he takes Fenris again and lets Fenris fuck his mouth.

“No,” Fenris breathes out, closing his eyes as he grabs onto Hawke’s hair. Hawke lets out another noise around Fenris’ cock, and seems to accept his fate.

“Hawke – ” Fenris gasps and Hawke pulls off and either the timing is terrible or perfect (though in Fenris’ book it’s still incredible either way) because he comes with a load groan, ropes of it hitting Hawke’s face, landing on his cheeks and lips. Hawke keeps his eyes shut and lets out a happy moan before Fenris drops to his knees in front of him, fumbling until he gets his hand in Hawke’s pants.

“Let me – let me, please,” Fenris mutters, staring at Hawke’s streaked face and trying to ignore his wildly beating heart. He doesn’t _just want_ to return the favor as he slowly jacks Hawke’s dick. He wants to make Hawke happier than he’s ever been in his life.

“Can’t, just keep doing this, just, _please_ ,” Hawke moans, and he reaches out to grip at Fenris’ shoulders. Fenris complies, licking himself off of Hawke’s face as he strokes Hawke’s twitching cock. The position is awkward and his wrist hurts but that barely seems like it matters as he twists his hand, thumbing over the slit. Hawke pants and then kisses Fenris hard and sloppy. Fenris can still taste himself on Hawke’s lips and on his tongue and then Hawke is coming into his palm, letting out sounds that Fenris had never expected to hear, shaking moans and half-yells. 

They collapse against each other, Hawke tugging Fenris’ hand out of his smallclothes to lick his palm. Fenris is glad it’s dark because he’s pretty sure his flush is hidden, and regardless, can be attributed to the sex.

He snorts despite himself as Hawke starts to suck on his index finger. Hawke looks at him, frowning.

“I don’t think we’re going to come across as very composed,” he mutters, lifting his other hand to smudge come from Hawke’s cheek. Hawke grins.

“Well, I think that’ll make Varric and Tallis very happy, won’t it?” Hawke says as he licks along the rest of Fenris’ fingers.

The long night seems worth it, all of the sudden.

-

Tallis ends up being Qunari – go figure.

Varric and Tallis do seem to know exactly what happened in that room, though Fenris is grateful they don’t say anything out loud. Tallis flirts with Hawke but grins at Fenris every time she does so, and he tries not to be annoyed.

Still, it’s a relief to get the rest of the bullshit out of the way and be back to drinking at the Hanged Man with normal people instead of Orlesian nobles or insane Qunari elves.

“So, you and Hawke…”

Anders looks between them with a frown. “Did you two finally make up, while you were gone?” he says.

Varric chuckles. “You could say that, Blondie.”

“Oh.” Anders blanches. “Don’t go into detail, Varric, I need to keep my sanity.”

“Yes, we made things right,” Fenris says as Varric deals the cards.

Ander groans at his hand. “I fold.”

“We literally _just_ started,” Isabela complains. She’s already slipped two cards into her boot, and she whistles, smiling at Fenris. “Kitten, what about you?”

“Oh no, I’ve got a great hand. Oh – rather, er, I’m not sure yet.”

Fenris isn’t sure whether she’s really that naïve, or just bluffing using her naivety.

Isabela laughs as Anders gets up to get another drink.

Hawke enters the tavern as Anders is ordering another round and the mood lightens even further.

“C’mon, Hawke, sit down, we hadn’t even started yet.”

“Varric! Rules are rules, we have to pass out cards again,” Isabela says.

“That isn’t – we all know you’re cheating, Rivaini.”

She shrugs. “Prove it. Stop losing so much.”

Merrill laughs. Hawke sits down next to Fenris and accepts the mug of ale that Anders offers him with a grin and a nod.

“We might as well deal again,” Anders says. “You know, one of us will really win against Isabela one of these days and it’ll just be all the more satisfactory.”

Hawke chuckles. “Perhaps,” he says, as Varric starts to gather the cards. He shuffles them and passes them around, and Anders doesn’t fold this time. Neither does Merrill, though she doesn’t say anything either, expression stoic and blank. Fenris wants to bet against her so badly.

An odd group of people. Fenris is almost jealous of Aveline, who had retired earlier, saying Donnic had promised to make dinner. Hawke almost never makes dinner.

Hawke laughs, probably at something that Anders says from the way Anders grins, and Fenris smiles too.

There isn't anywhere else he'd really rather be - not anymore.


End file.
